


To Burn With You Tonight

by spockandawe



Series: Like The Morning Sun [4]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, Cunnilingus, Developing Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Face-Sitting, First Time, Robot Sex, Vaginal Sex, Xeno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 09:42:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13051431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spockandawe/pseuds/spockandawe
Summary: The question: Do you send a message to Starscream? Or do you wait for him to send a message to you?If you message him first, you’re admitting that you want him more than he wants you. Is what he’ll say. Because of course he will. And obviously, the solution is to respond with faint surprise, scorn, and just a hint of disappointment, and ask if he really hasn’t outgrown that kind of thing by now. Except then he’ll just keep being smug and ignore your extremely good point, and you know he’ll be doing it just to bother you, and anyways. There are all sorts of other more interesting things you could spend your time arguing about instead.But the real deciding factor is that if you wait for Starscream to message you, you’re fairly certain you’ll be waiting until the heat death of the universe. Just so he can prove some meaningless, ridiculous point.So you’ll message him first.





	To Burn With You Tonight

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](http://spockandawe.tumblr.com/post/168663831081/to-burn-with-you-tonight-spockandawe-the)

The question: Do you send a message to Starscream? Or do you wait for him to send a message to you?

If you message him first, you’re admitting that you want him more than he wants you. Is what he’ll say. Because of course he will. And obviously, the solution is to respond with faint surprise, scorn, and just a _hint_ of disappointment, and ask if he really hasn’t outgrown that kind of thing by now. Except then he’ll just keep being smug and ignore your extremely good point, and you know he’ll be doing it just to bother you, and anyways. There are all sorts of other more interesting things you could spend your time arguing about instead.

But the real deciding factor is that if you wait for Starscream to message you, you’re fairly certain you’ll be waiting until the heat death of the universe. Just so he can prove some meaningless, ridiculous point.

So you’ll message him first.

Actually, you’d been hoping to just talk to him. Which would be considerably easier than doing this ridiculous dance around each other before you even get to the communication part of the whole thing. You mean— After an… encounter like the one you had with Starscream and Wheeljack (that’s not a fair description, not when they fragged you halfway into stasis), you were expecting a little bit of talking to be part of the bargain. Especially since— Just. It didn’t feel like a one-time event. Is what you’re trying to say.

But first you had to rush off to do judiciary council things. He’d seemed just fine for that walk. And he’d seemed just fine during the meeting. You made some optic contact with him that probably wasn’t quite as heated as you’re remembering. Except at the end of the meeting, he was practically the first one out of the room, and didn’t give you so much as a second glance.

You tried—try—not to be too stung. He’s busy. You’re busy. And you’ve just gotten a lot of his time to yourself. And besides, you’ve become intimately familiar with how difficult he can be, for no apparent purpose other than just for the sake of being difficult. Even before you were _intimately-_ intimately familiar with him, you knew that. And you are absolutely not going to chase him down the hallway just to give him an excuse to be snide at you.

For a while you distract yourself with a few cycles of excited messages to Chromia while you try not to fall asleep in the middle of a meeting on currency standardization. You’re almost certain nobody has said anything new for the last month or so, but the negotiations don’t seem to ever stop. Even if someone would just _reschedule_ them, it would help. It’s late. Nobody wants to be here. And yet, here you all still are. It’s still nice to have the chance to message Chromia, and she mostly laughs and teases that she can’t quite tell if you’re happy or not, and lets you talk as much as you want.

Then while you rush through a few errands, there’s another cycle of agonizing over whether to make Starscream _wait_ to hear from you, or to jump on the opportunity as early as possible. After Chromia finishes surprising you with a congratulatory bottle of imported Camien engex and goes to recharge for the night, it’s fairly late. And… you’ve been so distracted that you completely forgot that there was a third person involved in this equation.

When you comm Wheeljack, he’s still awake, is happy to chat, seems much more at ease than _you_ are, and even asks if you’d like to meet up with him for a drink or two sometime soon. Simple! You’re almost giddy with how nice and easy that was. Now you just have to do that a second time. With… Starscream.

Right, no, you’re not doing that in the middle of the night after you’ve downed half a bottle of engex. It’s only sensible to sleep first. Of course. And when you wake up, you have some _extremely_ urgent things to take care of with Metroplex. Not that you’re putting this off. Just— _Terribly_ urgent business.

It’s still not quite midday when you stop just telling yourself that you’re being ridiculous and actually decide to buckle down and do something about it.

WB: Hello, Starscream  
WB: Did you have a good night?

And you wince. Primus. It didn’t look so stupid until you actually sent it.

Lord Starscream, Duly Elected Ruler of Cybertron: This account is for official business only.  
Lord Starscream, Duly Elected Ruler of Cybertron: Do you make a habit of misusing government resources?  
Lord Starscream, Duly Elected Ruler of Cybertron: Or is this just a special occasion?  
Lord Starscream, Duly Elected Ruler of Cybertron: And that’s a little overeager, don’t you think?  
WB: I asked if your night went well  
WB: If you think that’s demanding, there’s nothing I can do to help you  
WB: And if you want me to comm you on a different channel  
WB: You might have to do something about it  
WB: Something like…  
WB: Actually give me the comm channel

For a few nanokliks, you wonder if that might have been pushing too hard and now he’s off sulking. But then you get a message alert.

SS: Happy?  
WB: My goodness  
WB: A little overeager, don’t you think?  
WB: A little demanding?  
WB: Just watch, next you’ll be asking how my night went  
SS: Was there any actual point to this message?  
SS: Or is this just how you amuse yourself when you have nothing else to keep you busy?  
WB: How about you imagine that I said something cutting about how some of us know how to multitask  
WB: The point is that I want to see you again  
SS: Isn’t it fortunate that we have a number of regular meetings together.  
SS: I think you’ll find we even have one later today.  
WB: Oh, stop  
WB: Don’t be dense  
WB: Wheeljack and I are making plans to see each other again  
WB: If you don’t want to be involved at all, that’s your decision  
WB: I’m just inviting you to spend time over in Metroplex sometime soon

There’s another pause, just long enough for you to second-guess every single thing you just said, but then you get a file transfer. When you open the file, it’s Starscream’s schedule for the day. Packed, of course, and since you’re alone, you let yourself sigh and droop a little. Though there is one open spot in his schedule, right after the meeting you’re both attending with the colonial representatives, and when you check your schedule, you’re free too, and—

WB: Are you saying you can come visit after our meeting this afternoon?  
SS: Took you a little while to catch on, did it?

You are _not_ taking that bait. You aren’t even acknowledging that there _is_ bait. And by your rules, for yourself, you decide that this means _you_ win.

WB: Thank you!  
WB: I’ll see you then!

And you’re not just going to ignore his obvious, obvious bait. On top of that, you’re also going to be extra nice and polite. _Ha._ It would be better if you could see his face, but… maybe you can also make a point of being extra nice later too, so you have a chance to watch him be confused.

Of course, maybe if you’d kept the conversation going, you could have gotten some idea of what he wants to do while he’s here. You mean. You know what you want to do. You want to frag him right through your desk. But is that what _he’s_ planning too? How is he coming over? Are you flying back from the meeting together? Or does he have anything else to take care of after the meeting? Will it look strange if you loiter around his office or wherever, waiting for him?

This is ridiculous. You’re being ridiculous. It doesn’t have to be this hard. Besides, you’re definitely not going to message him again, just to ask him questions like those. And you cut yourself off before you even finish wondering if instead you could ask Wheeljack— No, _no._ You are going to handle this. And you’re going to handle it without needing someone else’s help to make it through. Even though you’re dealing with Starscream.

Besides, once you manage to focus and get to work, it feels like it’s going to be _forever_ until this afternoon happens. Starscream is a problem for future Windblade, not for you.

So it is a bit of a shock when your chronometer alerts you that you need to leave for your meeting, and it feels like no time has passed at all.

When you rush off to the meeting, you do end up arriving before Starscream. You aren’t sure whether that’s a _relief,_ exactly, since it means you’re jumping every time you hear someone new come through the door. But it does give you a chance to settle yourself before he can see you acting like this.

You wind up chatting with Moonracer, who is conveniently in a seat that means _you_ can keep one optic on the door. And when Starscream does finally make his appearance, you’ve got yourself under control enough that you don’t jump at all. You even manage a polite little nod to him without missing a beat as you continue telling Moonracer about Camien theater. Almost as if you aren’t so distracted you almost lost your entire train of thought.

You’re being just as silly as you were before. You already fragged him once. You’ve both had your hands all over each other’s arrays. That was _literally just yesterday._ You can stop being twitchy over nothing already. And! He was the one who suggested meeting up today. You only mentioned doing something soon, he was the one who found a time when you both were free, and he was the one who found a time when you were both free _today._ He wants this too, and if he’s not playing stupid games like he usually does, he wants it even more badly than he’s letting on.

Even though that helps settle you out, the meeting goes by in the same way the rest of your day did, where it lasts forever and takes no time at all. At the end, you’re half-expecting Starscream to leave with, you know. _You._ But as the delegates filter out of the room, Starscream is standing off to the side talking with Strika and if you dawdle too long you’re just going to look ridiculous. You still drag your feet some, but when Starscream discreetly waves you off with a hand behind his back, you give it up. Strika locks optics with you over his shoulder and gives you a measured look, and your plating burns for a moment and you look away, but you don’t think you’re being all that obvious, and you don’t have any reason to be ashamed.

You settle for being ridiculous in the hallway instead. You walk… towards the exit. Slowly. Very, very slowly. You’re just reading this datapad, that’s why this is taking so long. Of course. It doesn’t take all that long before you hear Strika and Starscream leaving the room behind you. You look back towards them, and Strika catches your optics again before she turns and heads in the other direction. Your plating heats up again. It would be nice if she had more of a face so you had a better idea of what she’s thinking, although clinging to pure denial seems to be working well for you so far.

But Starscream is catching up to you, and that pushes everything else to the side for now. You don’t quite manage to think of anything to say as a greeting, but it’s easy enough to fall into step together, the same way you’ve done for so many other meetings. And anyways, you can use this time to ask him some other questions without needing to hunt him down later and hoping he has time to spare to answer you. Though— If this does work out, would that mean you’d be spending more… free time together? You don’t have much, and you doubt he does either, but surely sometimes— No, no, you’re not getting caught up in that today, you’re going to deal with that as it comes instead of worrying about it right now.

At least those questions fill the time it takes the two of you to leave the council building. You hesitate for a moment, waiting for Starscream to make the first move towards the sky. But he ignores that and just keeps walking. You’re confused, you don’t— But he’s still walking, and you catch up to him as he keeps walking down the road into the city.

He gives you a dry look. “Did you want to advertise where we’re both going? What do you think the chances are of someone trying to track down one of us to deal with whatever today’s emergency is? I’m sure that would be an… interesting turn of events.”

Your plating flushes with heat at the thought. And at the confirmation of what you’re going to be doing together. “Metroplex has privacy protocols that can be activated,” you protest.

“And trying to look for us and running into _that_ would send its own kind of message, don’t you think?”

You have to smother a bit of a laugh. Though— You know that nobody tries to pretend that people in the Camien government aren’t interfacing, and what you’ve heard of Velocitron and Carcer suggests they’re in a similar position. But you can’t speak for any of the other colonies, or for Cybertron. That’s something to ask Wheeljack about later. For now, it can’t hurt to keep things discreet. You could argue with the idea that there’s any more risk of being spotted together in the sky than being spotted together on the streets, but it isn’t a long walk to Metroplex’s control room, and there’s no harm in taking the slow route there.

By the time you get there, you’re still starting to tense up with excitement. You’re totally at a loss for things to say as you climb the stairs to the control room, and you just busy yourself with activating those privacy protocols, just to be sure you don’t forget. By the time you get to the actual room, the windows are all dimmed out and you can hear it as the door locks shut behind you.

Oh, this is happening. It still doesn’t quite feel real. It’s so strange that this felt so much easier the first time, when you weren’t even sure of what he wanted at all. And now that you know what you’re getting into, you’re going to freeze up. But you arranged this. And he arranged this _with you._ You both want it. You do. All you have to do is take that last little step.

So you force yourself to turn towards him. And— He isn’t even _looking at you._ He’s got his arms crossed and he’s turned away from you, looking over the room instead.

“Not really much of a spot for a rendezvous, is it,” he says.

You don’t clench your fists. You _don’t_ grit your teeth. “Only yesterday you were perfectly happy sitting on a desk. _Sharing_ a desk. In Wheeljack’s office. In the middle of the government complex. I’m so sorry that a quiet, private room isn’t living up to those high, high standards.”

He flicks his wings dismissively. “Well?”

“Well _what?”_

He finally turns, just enough to look at you out of the corner of his optic. “Did you have any actual plans, or was locking us inside a Titan all that you bothered to think through?”

Your mouth hangs open for half a moment. He turns away and begins to walk across the room. You can see him _smirking,_ and you’re not letting him have this all his own way. You take a few quick steps to cut him off and stand in front of him, face to face, purposefully carrying your wings high and flared.

You doubt you could actually stop him if he wanted to go straight through you, but it works for now. He stops, so close your chests are almost touching. It would almost be intimate, except you get the feeling he’s mostly doing it to loom and look down his nose at you. It’s not especially effective when you’re nearly the same size as he is.

And—It’s still hard to tell what Starscream _wants._ He doesn’t have quite the same feeling about him as he did before, where you were constantly questioning if he even wanted to be there. But it’s so difficult to read him when he puts on that cold, distant face. So. You take a chance, reach out, and make first contact with him, setting your hand on his waist. He halfway looks down to your hand before he catches himself and stills. But even that little signal is enough to relax you. Push and pull. The two of you fit together well, and you _know_ it. You can handle him.

So, plain and blunt, you say, “I want you.”

He’s taken aback. Just for an instant, barely a pause, barely enough for you to even see it, but it happened, and you _want him,_ you want more of this, you want to touch and talk and _win._

But he recovers quickly and says, “You’re going to have to be a little more specific than that.”

By way of answer, you reach up to wrap your arms around his neck and pull him in for a kiss.

He resists, and it’s the silliest thing, because he’s barely any distance away to begin with and it’s _obvious_ he’s doing this just to be difficult. But he only does it long enough for him to make his point before he gives in and lets you pull him in to kiss you. The first kiss is light and quick. The second isn’t. It’s no time at all until he’s kissing you just as hard and hot as he did before, and it’s so easy to find that rhythm with him, to keep pulling him in as close as you can manage, to keep trying for _closer_ , even after you’re pressed frame to frame.

His hands move to the base of your wings, and you aren’t expecting the sudden jolt of sensation and arch against him. With one arm, he catches your waist and supports you. But with his free hand, he keeps teasing and teasing at your wings, finding all the most sensitive spots without any hesitation. Your hands twitch for a moment, involuntarily, at the desire to return the favor. But you catch yourself. Not his wings. You remember. You promised.

You keep your arms around his neck and focus on kissing him instead. You realize, only now, that you could have been teasing him like you did before—was that really only yesterday? But it’s much too late to think about that now, because you can’t stop kissing him this way, deep and hungry. You can think through things all you like in the abstract, but once you’re in the moment, feeling a frame up against yours, when you’re so hot and _wanting_ you can barely stand it, all of that slips away from you. You hardly know what you’re after right now, except that you want _more._

Starscream is more than willing to oblige, at least for now. It’s remarkable how much more smoothly things go when his mouth is occupied. And when yours is too. To be fair.

Of course, now that you’ve thought of that, you can’t stop thinking of ways you could score points on him when he can’t say a word, and when he can’t derail everything with those snide little remarks he loves so much. Though— If you wanted to say anything, you’d have to let him go free too. You’re torn, and all while you try to consider your options, your attention is being pulled away by the kiss, and by the way Starscream has found a seam in your plating you never knew was so _sensitive._

He’s winning right now, words or no. Just watch, soon he’ll start smirking and ruin the kiss. So— You’re going to ruin it _first._

You’re already bent over backwards, almost off-balance with how hard you’re pulling him down into the kiss. His arms are wrapped tight around you, and you’d like to give yourself credit that he’s moderately distracted right now. The idea— Primus, you’ll probably have to have teeth replaced if this goes badly, and you know just how heavy he is, but the thought of doing this to Starscream—again—is incredibly appealing.

You let yourself drop.

The kiss breaks as he curses against your mouth, but you’ve already started laughing anyways. This is going to hurt, but it will be so very _worth it._ And then— you stop falling.

Starscream has you. Your weight is resting entirely on his arms, and when you twist to the side, you can see he has a leg braced under you for balance.

He waits for you to look back up at him before he says, icily, “Getting a little _predictable,_ are we?”

You ought to be embarrassed, angry, whatever, that he caught you so easily. But he has the most _beautifully_ exasperated expression on his face, and you’re so pleased with yourself that you can’t stop laughing and _laughing._ He looks so wonderful like this, especially as he watches you laughing and somehow manages to look even more put-upon than he was before.

You’ve been half-expecting him to drop you this whole time, so now that he does actually try to do it, your arms are locked nice and secure around his neck. You try to stretch up to kiss him again—even if it won’t be much of a kiss with the way you’re laughing—but he tilts his head back, just a little too far away for you to reach.

“You tried to _drop_ me?” you ask, with as much hurt in your voice as you can manage.

He doesn’t bother answering, just gives you the flattest, driest look you’ve ever seen. You’re trying so, so hard not to start laughing again, and he isn’t making it any easier. He’s still not letting you kiss him, but you can just, _just_ manage to bump him in the chin with the top of your helm.

Starscream still isn’t taking any of your weight. You could probably get a foot under yourself and stand up without his help, but why would you do that when you can hang from his neck instead?

He looks down at you and you smile sweetly up at him. He doesn’t actually sigh, but you can _feel_ the sigh in him. He looks your frame up and down as much as he can when you’re both pressed together like this, and makes no move to put his arms around you again. “I can do this all day,” he says.

You reply, “I’m patient.” You pause for a short moment, then add, “Also you should kiss me.”

He does actually sigh this time. He shifts back a little ways from you, and for a moment, you think he’s going to stand up and end the game. But— No. He stays right where he is. And you can’t see it, but you can certainly feel it when he slides one hand between your legs. Oh. _Oh._ This is a good plan, you like this plan a lot.

There’s a few nanokliks of quiet where his hand is pressed against your interface panel. He’s starting to smirk, which really ought to worry you, but all you can do is grin. Your spark is starting to flare hot with excitement, but Starscream stays right where he is, calm and quiet. You might even say… _alarmingly_ quiet. You ought to be alarmed, or at the very least on your guard, but all you can think of is how much you want to see whatever it is he has planned.

When he puts his free arm back around your waist and takes some of your weight again, that really should worry you too. But you’re a little distracted by the way he’s started tracing out the line of your array panel with just a single finger, the contact so light you can barely feel it. You squirm a little, try to press your hips down a little harder against his hand, but it’s no good. He holds you up against his frame, your chest pressed tight against his, and just keeps tracing out your panel with that soft, soft touch.

For a klik or so, you just go right back to kissing him. It’s a distraction from that contact that’s just right, only not _enough._ And maybe if you can work him up well enough, he’ll give up on whatever he’s trying to do right here and you can get to the real fragging. If you could get a hand between _his_ legs, that would probably help, but you’re still not sure if he’ll just dump you on the floor given half an opportunity, so your arms are staying right where they are, locked around his neck, thank you very much.

Though after a certain point, it just becomes— impossible to ignore his hand. The way his finger brushes across your plating is still too light, _horribly_ too light. It’s too light to give you any kind of satisfaction, but it’s exactly where you _need_ him, and as soft as the contact is, it’s inescapable. You can’t think about anything but his hand against you, you can’t focus, nothing. Your plating burns when you realize you’re getting so distracted you’re losing track of the kiss, pausing unmoving with your mouth against his, and remembering yourself, only for your attention to be pulled away nanokliks later.

Starscream is smiling. _Smirking._ Is the reason you realize at all. He gives up on the kiss while you’re still stubbornly trying to make it work, pulling back only just far enough that you can’t reach his mouth anymore. He’s watching you in an appraising, measuring way that makes you feel completely exposed. You should probably be embarrassed at how it makes your fans audibly speed up, but all you can think about is Starscream between your legs and how little he’s giving you and how badly you need _more._

The self-satisfied way he smiles down at you is completely, utterly, wonderfully infuriating. You’re so close to just begging him to _really_ touch you, but with him smirking that way? Ha, _no._ Instead, you put the last shreds of your focus into trying your absolute, absolute hardest to keep your panel shut.

It’s not easy. You think Starscream reads something of your intentions off your face, because he switches from that teasing light touch to simply placing the flat of his hand against your panel, pressing forward into you with a slow rhythm that makes it impossible to think of anything else but him between your legs, and, and his spike, and your valve _aches_ for something, _anything—_

You make an embarrassingly desperate noise before you can help yourself, but you press your lips tight shut and dim your optics so you don’t have to see Starscream looking smug about this. You can still feel a sharp, single laugh echo through his frame into yours. All while the pressure of his hand rocks against you and you fight not to beg him for more. You only barely manage to keep your panel shut. But you do it. No matter how you’re thinking of how easy it would be to let your spike pressurize into his hand and how he could stroke you off, or, or imagining his fingers sinking into you and being _filled—_

In the end, you surrender first. But not in the way _he_ wants. You keep your panel shut, even though it’s almost painful at this point. Instead you get a foot under yourself and take your own weight again, pushing yourself upright. Your arms are still just as tight around his neck as his arm is around your waist, your chests still pressed together (and his hand still pressed between your legs), but you feel like you have some measure of control over the situation again.

Slow ventilation. Your array still aches, but it’s the slightest bit less urgent. You still want him, _badly,_ but he’s hesitating and you’re hesitating and if you wait for yourself to settle out and calm down, he’s only going to take the lead again and leave you off-balance and out of your element. So you unlock your arms from around his neck, take his face in your hands, and kiss him once, hard and deep.

When you break away, before he can say a word, you make a decision. “My valve,” you say. “I want you in my valve.”

He looks a little surprised for half a nanoklik, before he covers it with an expression of vague amusement. His hand kneads once against your panel, and you bite back a gasp. He says, “I’m afraid you’ll have to be a little more specific than that. My hands, my spike—?”

You waver, because you don’t want to let him steer you, and you can’t tell if he left off an obvious option just so you’d ask for it. But, no. You know what? You don’t _care._ You kiss him again, to cover that momentary confusion, and when you break away, you only pull back just far enough to be able to speak. “I want your _mouth_ , of course.”

He mostly hides his reaction, but you can feel the tightening of his arm around you, and the harder press of his hand against your panel. You’re sure your response isn’t nearly so subtle, but you can’t bring yourself to care about that either. Not when you’re getting to see the way you can affect him and he’s about to give you everything you want.

You don’t think you’re imagining a moment of hesitation before he drops his hand from your panel and takes a step back, looking away from you, around the room. You shudder at the loss of contact, and realize too late that he still has a hand on your waist, and must have been able to feel all of that reaction. So when that hand starts to guide you, urging you over across the room, you dig in your heels out of pure embarrassed spite.

Starscream looks back to you. “What?”

Your plating is burning, but you refuse to show it. “No, _you_ what. What are you telling me to do?”

He sighs, heavily and takes his hand from your waist (you pretend not to miss that contact) so he can sketch a mocking little almost-bow and gesture grandly towards your desk. “Do _forgive_ me, it was my mistake to assume that after interfacing on a desk only yesterday, you would have been familiar with the idea of interfacing on a desk.”

You step in closer to him again. Which is only so you can elbow him in the side. Of course. “Just imagine how much easier this would have been if you’d mentioned the desk from the start.”

His hand returns to your waist, and you can’t tell whether the way his fingers curl against you is possessive or just _hungry,_ though either answer would make you happy. He says, “If the desk wasn’t already in your plans, then I’m not sure what was. Please, do share if you have other usable furniture concealed somewhere in here. Or were you intending to just start interfacing in the middle of the floor?”

Oh, that— That idea sends a nice little shiver down your spinal strut. You think Starscream notices, because there’s a quick little half moment of hesitation, and he looks sideways at you before he continues.

“Regardless, I have no intention of being uncomfortable just so I can cater to your every little whim, so—”

“Selfish,” you interrupt. Though it’s a bit undermined by the way you’re grinning and you can’t stop. You’re trying not to laugh so hard that it’s difficult to talk, but you don’t _care._ “Dreadfully selfish. Haven’t you thought about the hardships I’d endure to make you happy? Hardships like… taking a position in your government?”

The flat look he gives you is a thing of beauty. You’re losing the battle against the laughter, but you try to press on.

“Besides, you shouldn’t you be busy astonishing me with all these—” You wave your hand vaguely. “All these interfacing _things_ I’ve never done before? Instead of waiting on me to make suggestions?” You’ve reached the desk, but instead of getting onto it, you force your face smooth enough to give him a completely innocent, completely insincere look of adoring trust. “I’m putting myself in your hands.”

He makes a disgusted, exasperated noise, but you can see a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “In that case—” He turns and takes you by the waist and boosts you up onto the desk before you can even think to make it difficult for him. He sets one hand on each of your thighs, nudging them apart, and goes down on one knee between your legs. He pauses a moment—for effect, you’re sure, and you ought to be annoyed, but instead you’re wound tight with anticipation. He meets your gaze and says, “Prepare to be astonished.”

Oh, the noise that pulls out of you ought to be humiliating, but you’re _much_ too invested in this situation to worry about that right now. Your panel opens, and you’re reminded all over again of how much you ache with _needing,_ how desperate you are for him to touch you. He reaches for your array with one hand, and you ought to protest that no, you asked for his _mouth,_ but you don’t think you have it in you to argue with anything he wants to do to you right now.

But all he does is put a single finger in front of your spike as it begins to pressurize, holding it in place where it is, just barely out of your sheath. You can’t look away. You gasp and try to force yourself to hold still, but you can’t stop the full-body shiver that runs through your frame as his finger pushes down against your spike.

Starscream says, “Do you know how to put this away?”

It takes a long moment for you to focus enough to process his words, and then another long moment to figure out how to answer. The pressure of his finger against your transfluid channel as your spike struggles to pressurize is so intense that it’s hard to distinguish between pleasure and pain. Your voice sounds a bit distant when you manage to reply. “Yes, I— Yes. I think so. But why—” You swallow hard. “Why do I need to?”

From the edge of your optics, you can see his mouth curve into a smile, and when you tear your gaze away from your spike, the expression on his face makes you shiver all over again. His voice is practically a purr when he says, “You need to put your spike away so you can see exactly what I’m about to do to your valve.”

Oh. _Oh._ Yes, _yes,_ you absolutely accept this explanation, you are completely on board with Starscream’s reasoning. It’s so hard to concentrate well enough to remember how to access your array controls internally, and it’s even harder to command your spike to deactivate, but when you finally manage it, and your spike retreats back into its sheath and the internal plate closes over it, the ache in your array recedes, just a little. Though, given the expression on Starscream’s face, you don’t think that will last long.

“Forward,” he says, and there’s another awkward moment of hesitation as you try to figure out what he wants. He taps his fingers against your thighs, and his optics are, are locked between your legs. He repeats, _“_ _Forward._ If you want me to get my mouth on you, you’ll need—”

Once you realize what he wants, you don’t even give him a chance to finish that sentence. You almost knee him in the face with how fast you move to perch on the edge of your desk, which would have almost been hilarious enough to outweigh the fragging you’re sure it would cost you.

Starscream spreads your legs even further and bends in towards you. You’re practically shivering from anticipation and can’t look away from his mouth. But instead he legs his hands slide up from your knees, along your inner thighs, and his fingers pause only just _barely_ shy of your array. The frozen moment stretches out just long enough that you’re almost ready to _order_ him to touch you, never mind how badly you’re sure that would go, but then he closes that last little distance.

That very first brush of his thumb against your valve is so _much_ that it almost makes you slam your legs shut. You don’t get very far with it, because your knees run into Starscream’s shoulders almost right away, but it’s enough for Starscream to notice and laugh just once, short and almost silent. Your plating burns, but you’re, you’re not about to tell him to _stop._ And his focus is still right on your valve, which is all you really care about right now.

The next pass of his thumb, you manage to control yourself. Mostly. When he presses it against your node and makes one short, soft circle, your hands lock tight on the edge of your desk. You’re glad he isn’t looking up at you, because you’re sure him seeing whatever expression your face has right now would be even more embarrassing than— more embarrassing than this quiet, _exposed_ observation.

And then he sets his mouth against your valve. That pulls a noise out of you, low and shocked at the sudden heat, the softness of his lips against you, the warm pressure of his tongue. You can feel against your node, a soft _flexing_ that’s almost painful with how subtle it is, and then he, he kisses your valve the same way he kisses your mouth, and you can feel his tongue pressing against you, slipping the smallest bit inside you. And it’s enough of a shock feeling him _in_ you, _inside_ your frame, but he pulls away before you can do any more than register the sensation, and you’re left with an even more desperate awareness of how empty your valve is.

“ _Starscream,”_ you choke out.

And, and that absolute _aft,_ he pulls away from your valve entirely just so he can look up at you and say, “Yes?”

Your only answer is an inarticulate, strangled noise, and you finally manage to unlock your hands from the edge of your desk so you can grab onto his helm and pull him back in against you. He resists for half a moment, bracing himself against the desk just long enough to show you that he _can_ , before he bends his head to your valve again. His shoulders dig into your thighs, but it’s overwhelmed completely by the warm wet heat of his mouth against you. You’ve touched yourself before, of course, but something about it being someone else’s frame, moving without any direction from you, makes every touch so much brighter and more electric. You can feel his lips against your node, and all you can do is shiver, frozen, and clutch helplessly at his helm.

Of course, that’s when he pulls away. _Again._

But this time, you don’t get an opportunity to even protest before he takes one of your feet in his hands and boosts it up to his shoulder. You— aren’t following. You can’t quite find your voice, you don’t know what he’s trying to get from you, and it’s difficult to think about anything but the way he _isn’t_ touching your valve right now. You only end up staring mutely at him, completely lost.

He sighs. “Your leg. _Over._ ”

Over—Over what? Over his _shoulder?_

But he’s gotten impatient with waiting for you and gives your foot a shove backwards, over his wings. Wait wait no, no touching, he _said._ You’re left with your foot hovering awkwardly in the air, and in his infinite patience, he’s already grabbing your other foot and preparing to do the same.

“Wait, _Starscream—”_

He listens and pauses, which is a bit of a wonder in its own right, though the sardonic, impatient look he’s giving you is irritating enough that you decide to ignore it entirely.

Slow ventilation. Steady. “You said not to touch your wings. You _told_ me.”

That does make him hesitate, just a fraction of a nanoklik, but enough for you to see it. And then he shrugs and says, “Then I suppose you’d better be careful.”

He doesn’t even wait for you to acknowledge that or, or _anything,_ just carelessly tosses your foot back over his shoulder. And before you can get your bearings, his mouth is already back against your valve, but now he’s pressed so much closer than before, the full heat of his mouth on you, his tongue _in_ you, deep enough that you gasp and your thighs lock tight around his head. He laughs again, but with his mouth still against you, so that the sensation echoes through your array and you can’t hold back a moan. Your hands are still on his helm, but you aren’t even pretending to steer him anymore, just holding on because you don’t know what you’ll do if you let go.

Your legs are shaking with the effort of holding them away from his frame, and it’s only going to get more difficult to keep them where they are the longer Starscream does this. You settle your feet gingerly in the middle of Starscream’s back, doing your best to avoid the hardware for his wings. Of course, you can’t think very clearly anymore and can’t see at _all,_ so you only hope you’re managing that. He pulls away for a moment, just far enough that you can feel him slide one hand up between your legs and part your valve open. He bends in and you’re waiting, tense and shivering for his mouth pressed against you again. He runs his tongue up the center of your valve, painfully slow and gentle when, when you _need—_

But then he sets his mouth to your node and you’re bracing for the feeling of his tongue on you, but instead, he _sucks._ You make a noise that definitely isn’t a wail, and your legs lock tight around him, pulling him in against you, close enough that you can feel the way he smiles against you, and you don’t have to be able to see Starscream to know just how smug and self-satisfied that smile is. Later. You’ll find the focus to be annoyed by him later. For now, your hands are locked tight on his helm, and you’re curled helplessly forward over him.

Starscream reaches up around your thigh to rest his free hand on your waist, grounding and steadying. You focus on that and try to drag yourself back under control and slowly, slowly manage to straighten up. Once you’re more or less upright and are managing steady (if ragged) ventilations again, his hand drifts down from your waist to rest just above your spike panel, teasing and _maddeningly_ close to where you want him, and it takes all your concentration to remember than you keep to keep your spike panel shut, because otherwise Starscream wins. And he’s not _going_ to win. Because you aren’t going to let him.

He’s kissing your valve again, deep wet kisses, with his other hand still holding you spread open for him. It feels good, so good to have something _in_ you, and the way his tongue moves in and against you is enough to make coherent thought impossible. You’re close to an overload. You can feel it, just out of your grasp. You’re so _close,_ and it should take so little to bring you that last little distance— But you don’t think you’re going to be able to finish like this. Every time you can feel yourself almost there, he slows down, just enough for the overload to slip away from you. Your entire array aches with how badly you need to overload, but he isn’t letting you.

You want to just tell him to let you overload, but your throat is locked too tight to speak, and it’s almost impossible to string the words together even in your head. You think you almost have it, but then he bends in a little deeper and the crest of his helm brushes across your node and sends a jolt of pleasure shooting through your frame. You were— You were going to say something to him, you know you were. But it’s hard to focus, and if you arch your hips forward just a _little,_ maybe you can— You manage to catch his helm against you again and shudder at how _good_ that firm contact feels while he teases your valve, always giving you that slightest bit less than what you _need._

So you collect your focus, and the next time Starscream pulls away from a deep kiss, you press your heels into his back and edge your hips forward, pressing your node to his helm, grinding your hips in quick little circles. He notices, you’re almost sure he does, but what is he going to do? He keeps his mouth on you, but he slows even further, lighter and even more teasing, enough to make you grind your teeth in frustration. It doesn’t matter. If he isn’t going to give you this overload, you’re going to find a way to take it for yourself. You arch against him again pulling yourself forward to his face, your valve pressed to his mouth and your node to his helm, and you’re close, so _close—_

You fall off the desk.

All you have is a moment of imbalance and confusion and you’re going over. Starscream’s hands are scrabbling against your frame and you can hear—feel—him cursing against you, and you’re trying to catch yourself, but the only thing you have to grab is Starscream’s helm which _isn’t helpful,_ but you aren’t even entirely sure which way is up—

Starscream manages to steady himself, somehow, bent over backwards. And when you shift your weight you wince, but your feet can just barely touch ground and take a little of your weight. You’re still half frozen with shock and confusion, but when you look down with wide optics and meet Starscream’s gaze, he’s as frozen as you are. And then you take how far he’s bent over backwards further than you would have believed possible, with a single arm braced awkwardly against the floor behind him. And there’s the way the tips of your feet only barely reach the floor, the way you’re straddling his face with your array jammed uncomfortably hard against his plating, and the way you’re still clutching at his helm like it’s going to steady you.

You burst into laughter. You can’t help it. It’s just— It’s too _much._ You can see the expression shift dangerously in Starscream’s optics, but you can’t stop. You, you need to at least move before you throw his spinal strut out of alignment, or whatever other hilarious way this could go wrong. You let go of his helm and edge backwards off his face until you’re more sitting on his chest, but your legs are still hanging over the top edge of his wings, and your feet aren’t quite touching the floor anymore, and the way you can’t stop laughing isn’t doing much to help your balance.

You try to stand up with some dignity, but it really isn’t a surprise when you trip and just fall over backwards onto the floor. One of your wings hits the desk, but the pain barely even registers, because all you can do is laugh and _laugh._ Starscream straightens slowly, not even glancing your way until he’s upright. You’re trying to stop laughing, but all you can do is half-smother it, which isn’t really hiding much of anything. Starscream crosses his arms and gives you an impressively sour look, and it’s, it’s just all the _funniest thing—_

“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.” His voice is dangerously flat. You should be more worried about that. Or trying to soothe his injured dignity. Or something.

You just. It’s so _silly_ _,_ and really, you deserve to be at least as embarrassed as he is, even if you’d do a better job of dealing with it. But you can’t quite feel that angle where you should be humiliated by looking like this in front of him, you’re just delighted and helpless with laughter that the two of you managed to end up in such a ridiculous situation together in the first place.

Starscream’s scowl deepens, though, and you really ought to do something about that. You push your way upright so you’re on your knees in front of him. He’s still glaring, and leans away fractionally as you draw closer. But before he can find some reason to derail the entire encounter—and before you can slow down enough to start second-guessing yourself—you throw your arms around his neck again and kiss him as enthusiastically as you can manage.

It’s a _dreadful_ kiss. Which is mostly your fault, because you’re only partially managing to hold back the laughter. But it doesn’t help that Starscream is caught by surprise and winds up somewhere between trying to be all stiff and cold and offended, and trying to actually kiss you back. His crossed arms are still pinned between your stomachs, and it’s uncomfortable, but you’re waiting for _him_ to admit it’s uncomfortable and fix the situation. It takes him long enough that you can tell he’s torn about whether or not to hold on to how offended he definitely is, or to just to let it go.

You win, because he finally unfolds his arms and wraps one around your back, beneath your wings, while his free hand drifts down to run slowly along your thigh. It sends a delightful shiver up your spinal strut and reminds you sharply that you were very, _very_ close to an overload before, but never got one.

And you’re too impatient to wait for Starscream to finish dancing around the question of whether he’s going to offer or you’re going to ask, or both of you are going to pretend like you don’t want anything out of his situation at all. You can afford to make one little concession. So you pull back from the kiss, and without preamble, tell him, “I want your mouth.”

You still haven’t figured out the best ways to make him shiver, but he _does_ freeze for half a nanoklik before he lets a smug smile spread across his face. That’s fine. It doesn’t matter what expression he makes, not when you felt how he _reacted._

“Is that so,” he says. His arm tightens around your back, and his hand starts to move up your leg again, drifting towards your inner thigh.

You lean back, just a tiny bit, just enough for your arms to pull at his neck. “Your _mouth,”_ you tell him. “I think I was fairly clear.”

He sighs, heavy and theatrical, but his smirk doesn’t budge. “As specific and descriptive as ever. _How_ would you like my mouth?”

For a moment, you look uncertainly up at the desk, but he’s already cutting you off.

“Absolutely not.” His voice is flat again, and you’re having to choke back another burst of laughter at the expression on his face.

Then— Fine. You aren’t a complete innocent, and he was already gracious enough as to give you another idea. You let your arms drop from around his neck and set your hands against his chestplate. “Before,” you start. “Before. You asked me if I planned to frag you in the middle of the floor.”

He doesn’t show much reaction in his face and frame. But you can hear it in his fans. You’re grinning now, you just can’t help yourself.

“Show me how,” you demand.

You’re expecting him to push forward into you, lay you back on the floor and brace himself over you, nudging his way between your legs. And for a moment, you think that’s what he begins to do. But he hesitates. And then instead he pulls back away from you, lettings his hands fall from your frame. You follow him forward before you can help yourself, though you have to pause when he sinks down to lie flat on the floor.

Of course, now that you’ve stopped, that’s the moment he decides to reach out to take your wrist and tug you forward again. Part of you wants to say something sarcastic about how if he’d only tell you what he’s doing, this might move more smoothly, but you’re wound too tense with anticipation and distracted wondering what he’s about to do.

No, communication is for mechs who aren’t Starscream, it’s so much easier for him to just keep pulling you towards him without a single word about what he wants from you. Your patience lasts about two nanokliks before you pull up short, half-bent over him with your knees just shy of his wings.

“What are you trying to do?”

You can already tell you’ve missed— something. Just from the way he’s starting to smirk.

He says, “You _did_ tell me to _show_ you.”

It takes you a nanoklik. And you can tell he’s awarding himself points every moment you aren’t quite understanding. But you finally figure it out. “Showing me includes _telling_ me, using your _words,_ it doesn’t mean miming every last little thing, and that isn’t even close to being clever so you can stop acting so fragging smug about it—”

Starscream tugs on your wrist again, but you yank your arm back and stay exactly where you are.

“ _Words,”_ you snap.

He sighs and locks optics with you. “My mouth is over here. You are over there. And it seems that I’m forced to remind you of the recent, recent past, where you so _politely_ requested that I use my mouth on your valve.” He turns his head from you and looks up at the ceiling, though he’s smirking just as shamelessly as he was before. “Do I need to make this even more simple?”

Your plating burns, a little with embarrassment, but even more with _wanting._ Yes, _yes,_ you will absolutely put up with Starscream’s everything if it means _this._ You start to clamber up to straddle his frame, but pull up short again when you look down and remember—

“Your wings.”

He looks at you again, with a dry look that you ignore, because _he’s_ the one missing the point right now.

You resist the urge to say something cutting, and tell him, “If you want me like that, then show me— _tell_ me where to go so I’m not kneeling on your wings.”

His face flickers just enough that you’re fairly certain he hadn’t considered that issue, and mentally pat yourself on the back for catching something he missed. And for catching it before you actually made a serious mistake.

Starscream is frowning down at your frame like he finds it personally offensive. “Your legs _are_ rather short, aren’t they.”

“Yes, almost the exact length as yours,” you reply, placidly.

And just like you’d hoped, his scowl deepens. You only given him a calm, pleasant smile when he glances up at you, completely ignoring the sour look on his face.

“Give me your knee,” he says.

As it happens, your legs are only _just_ long enough that if you set your knees above his wings, your feet hit the floor right below their lower edges. And all while Starscream is arranging you to his satisfaction, you do your best to act like it doesn’t send a delighted shiver down your spinal strut, having your array right, right _there,_ just above his face, close enough that you can feel the heat of his ventilations against you, and if he just tilted his head a little ways forward, he could reach—

No, no. That’s going to happen soon enough, unless he’s playing another game with you. And you’re not going to surrender ground by giving him an excuse (another excuse) to call you overeager. It might be _true,_ but it doesn’t mean you’re going to let him get away with it.

You think he might be fussing with your legs longer than he really needs to, hoping for a reaction, but he eventually lets it go. When he reaches up to your thighs and lets his hands slide around to the back of your legs, you sigh, and ignore the way it comes out shakier than you meant it to. He pulls you towards him as he lifts his head to meet you, and you can’t look away.

But then he _stops._ You bite back a curse, because you aren’t going to give him that satisfaction, but you’re sure he cans till read it from your face. He glances sideways to your leg, and then up at your face. The corner of his mouth turns up and he says, “You’ll have to keep yourself _very_ still, won’t you.”

And before you can even finish processing the words, he brings his mouth to your valve again. The strangled noise you make is part shock, part dismay, because he’s, he’s completely right, you can barely move at all without moving your feet or knees, and his tongue is just as light and teasing against you as it was before. You’re already desperate to grind your valve down against his face and demand _more,_ but when you try to bear down, just a little, your left knee starts to slip sideways and you’ve got so little room to work with, and this is only just the _beginning._ You hold yourself as steady as you can, even if you can’t stop the shiver running up and down your frame, and through it all, you can feel the way Starscream is starting to smile against your valve.

“You’re awful,” you tell him. “Absolutely _dreadful.”_ And if you focus on the words you’re saying, you can ignore the way you’re struggling not to laugh with delight and excitement.

He doesn’t bother pulling away to answer you, just hums in agreement against your array, and _Primus_ does that— You can’t move, you _can’t_ , but you curl forward over him and your hands find his helm again, and you hold on for dear life.

This isn’t quite like it was on the desk, though you’re not sure you can rightly claim to, to be _used_ to this already. But before, it had been a slow climb from nothing towards overload. And now, you’re only being reminded of how impossibly desperate you were for that overload before things got derailed. You were a little distracted from how badly you needed to finish, but now you’re painfully aware of how you never had that release, how badly you’re still aching for it. You _need,_ just as much as you did then, but now you have that horrible fresh awareness that you can’t move here, you can’t try to take what you want from him, that you’re entirely at his mercy.

It’s a whole different kind of tension that lies over the way you need to overload, escalates it, and leaves you still frozen, still unable to stop that helpless shivering. All you can do is sit there and take it as Starscream mouths lazily at your valve and node, as he works his tongue slowly, _slowly_ into you. You can’t even demand— can’t even _beg_ him for more, not without betraying how completely helpless you are. Which is probably pointless, you’d wager he knows just what position you’re in right now.

You can’t do much, but your hands locked tight on his helm help ground you. Most of your processor is consumed with how much effort it takes to hold your legs steady, but you can still drag his head up against you, pull him in harder against your valve. This isn’t any better— You’re sure you’re giving just as much away as if you were asking him for more with words, but you can’t help yourself, you _need_ this. As slowly as he’s moving, you’re still building quickly towards that peak, and all you can think of is that he’s going to hold you there for as long as he can, keeping you at his mercy without letting you overload.

You can’t look away. Every little movement you see from where you are, you can _feel_ it against your valve, a hundred times more brighter and intense. You can see it when he presses in towards you all while you feel his tongue sliding _into_ you. You can see when he pulls back the same way you’re feeling his touch lighten and fade, and see and feel the way he resists when you try to pull him back in close again.

And every time he presses in close, kissing your valve wet and deep, you can see how close the crest of his helm comes to your node, always _almost_ touching, never quite making contact. Always so painfully close that you want— _need_ to work your hips down against him and grind into him and ride his face through your overload. But all the movement you can manage without letting your knees slip is tiny little circles with your hips, too little to do you any good, just enough to betray to him how desperate you are.

It doesn’t take long for you to reach that same plateau as before, so close to overload, feeling it just out of your grasp, and knowing you won’t be able to reach it with what Starscream is giving you right now. You’re doing your best to settle your spark, to find a way to center yourself enough to outlast his patience for whatever game he’s trying to play.

So you aren’t prepared at all when Starscream buries his tongue deep inside you and tilts his head the slightest bit forward, so his helm presses into your node. You gasp out loud at the sudden contact before you can help yourself, but then before you can even begin to adjust, he _hums_ against you and it’s, it’s too much with him in your valve and against your node and feeling that vibration echoing all through your array, through your trapped spike, and your vision glitches out as you fall into overload.

It’s all you can do to hold your legs still, but at least Starscream stays where he is, his face tight against your array, so that even as limited as your movements are, you can still bear down against him, against his tongue still inside you, or his helm pressed so hard to your node that it almost hurts. It almost hurts and all you want is _more._ You’ve lost control of your vocalizer, you realize, and you probably ought to be embarrassed by whatever you’re saying or what noises you’re making, you can’t even tell. You can’t even bring yourself to care, if you can’t even remember what you said, you don’t have to be embarrassed by it, those are the new rules.

You’re shaking with the effort it takes to hold yourself still, but Starscream stays with you through the overload, without any of the teasing of before. His mouth keeps working against you up until the point when the overload finally drops away from you, and he keeps going, and his mouth on your array is so intense it’s almost painful. You’re struggling to find the words to say _stop,_ but before you can manage, he stills against you, unmoving, his hands resting lightly on your legs.

He doesn’t pull away, which you slowly, slowly realize is _probably_ because your hands are still locked tight on his helm. Some distant corner of your processor wonders if you’re hurting him by holding on too tightly, another corner thinks that if you are, he _deserves_ it, but most of your processor is taken up with slightly hysterical amusement at the idea that you’re supposed to remember how to _move_ right now.

You do manage to pry your hands off his plating, if only because his mouth against your valve, even unmoving, is uncomfortably intense right now. He lets his head drop, finally, and you can’t even find it in you to be annoyed by how smug he looks. He— deserves to feel that smug right now. You’d never admit it to him out loud, but that expression is justified.

But you’ve used up all your processing power just managing to let go of him, though, and now all you can do is kneel there with your hands and legs still faintly shaking, staring blankly at him, trying to remember what’s supposed to happen next. You move— But you can’t move. Why—? His wings, that’s right, his wings. What should you—

He gets tired of waiting before you manage to make your way to the end of that thought. You feel his hands around your waist, and before you can even manage to wonder what he’s doing, he boosts you up and _backwards_ , and the noise you make is an undignified squawk more than anything else. You only manage a moment of awkward flailing before he sets you down again, just. Sitting on his stomach. Instead of kneeling over his wings. Yes, that. That makes sense. That is exactly what you would have done (probably) if he hadn’t been so impatient.

It doesn’t even matter, you’re still feeling too blissed out and lazy to even work up the energy to be annoyed at him. There are lots of reasons to be annoyed at Starscream, you just… choose not to. You just grin like an idiot and laugh a little helplessly and refuse to be annoyed _or_ embarrassed.

Starscream’s smile is still plenty self-satisfied, but he gives you a dry look and says, “Should I take that to mean you enjoyed the experience?”

Words still feel like a little too much to handle right now, so by way of answer, you just stretch out along his frame and kiss him.

Now this, this is nice. You don’t have him pinned, and you’re sure that the moment he wanted to, he could dislodge you. But it’s pleasant feeling the warmth of his frame underneath yours, feeling every last movement of his plating as he shifts and resettles. And as his hands move to run up the backs of your legs, drifting along your frame until he can tease at the base of your wings. You make a pleased noise against his mouth and relax into the kiss and the touch. His fans are still running hard enough that you can feel the faint vibration of them through your plating, and you never would have guessed that sensation would be as soothing as it is.

The kiss itself is deep, but lazy and undemanding. You don’t have as much space to use your hands on him as he does, but you make the most of what you can do. You have a lovely angle for getting your hands into his vents again, for a start. Just like last time, he shivers when you bury your fingers inside him, and this time you’re paying enough attention to notice the way you can _feel_ it through your fingers when his fans speed up that little bit further.

But you don’t only want to play with his vents, not when there’s still so much of his frame you haven’t gotten to explore yet. His frame has so many enticing seams and joints and you are determined to memorize every last one of them. Of course you’re distracted enough with the kiss that you don’t really pay that much attention to his reactions, not until you bring one hand up to cup the side of his neck. Your thumb brushes absently across a cable, and Starscream stiffens and gasps sharply against your mouth.-

 _Oh._ Now _that—_

You pull back to get a better look, and Starscream’s face smooths out into an expression of vague disinterest, but no, too late, he already reacted and you _know_ he did. He’s going to have to do better than that if he wants to actually lie to you. Your hand is still against his neck, and you wish you’d been paying a little more attention to what you were doing, but still, there aren’t many options. You pick out one likely-looking cable and run your finger slowly along it. No reaction. But the cable next to that one—

When you brush your finger down it, he controls his face well enough, but doesn’t manage to stop the full body twitch you feel underneath you. _You_ don’t bother trying to hide your grin, because some people in this room are mature enough not to play those kinds of games, and you’ll work out the reasons later why you definitely aren’t being a hypocrite with blatant double standards. Right now, you’re busy with running your finger down the cable again, pressing down just a little bit harder. You can see Starscream’s jaw clench, and because you’re listening for it, you can hear the tiny little hitch in his ventilations.

You think Starscream has given up on pretending he doesn’t care about what’s happening, but his expression now is a little more wary and a _lot_ more mulish, and— You don’t want to run into a roadblock like that now, not when things have been going so well. So before he can say anything difficult or, or try to provoke you, or whatever his plans are, you scoot back a little ways where you’re sitting, bend down, and _lick_ the cable.

His hands clench almost-painfully on your wings and his whole frame surges up underneath you. You sit back up against, immensely pleased with yourself, so you can see more of his reaction. But you’re a little distracted from that train of thought when you feel something pressing against your aft.

You manage not to ask what that is and give him a reason to make fun of you. You don’t even turn around to look for yourself. You just lock optics with Starscream, fill your expression with as much confidence as you can muster, and rock back against his spike.

You doubt you’re fooling him very much, not when he knows perfectly well how little interfacing you’ve done. But the way he looks at you and the breathless way he curses seem almost admiring for a nanoklik before he visibly collects himself and puts back on that familiar old air of smug detachment. You’re less irritated than you’d expect. As affected and untrue as that facade obviously is, and even if it’s insulting that he seems to expect you to keep believing it, it’s a satisfying little victory every time you manage to nudge him out of the performance or poke a hole in his defenses.

So you stop where you are, your aft pressed against his spike, but not moving. He hesitates for a moment, looking up at you. You can wait. You’ve had an overload. You might be starting to run hot again, especially with Starscream right here between your legs, but you doubt you’re feeling nearly as much urgency about things as he is. It’s almost tempting to act like things are over and pretending you’re going to leave, except for the way you’re almost sure he’d take deathly offense and wouldn’t let it go for the next million years or so. You still can’t help smiling at the idea.

Starscream finally snaps, “Well?”

“Well what?”

He’s starting to glower at you, and yet, remarkably, you fail to feel any remorse whatsoever. “I would have thought it was self-evident,” he says. “Or were you in need of more instructions?”

You put on your most innocent face, even if it’s slightly spoiled by the way you’re grinning. “Why, Starscream, did you have something you were trying to communicate to me? If you do think of something you want to say, I’m perfectly willing to listen.”

Oh, the way he’s glaring at you now is something special. But before he can say a word, you press on.

“In the meantime—” You rock back against his spike again, and take note of the lovely way his fingers dig into your back. You lean forward, brace your hands against his chest, and look him dead in the optics. “I don’t think I’m done with my valve just yet. I want your spike. Any objections?”

You let yourself be a bit proud you managed to keep your voice mostly steady. You don’t think Starscream is entirely buying the act, but you’re still being less ridiculous about things than _he_ is. And besides, you don’t need instructions for this. Shouldn’t need instructions. It’s almost as basic as interfacing gets. If you move a little slowly in rising up on your knees and arranging yourself above Starscream’s spike, that’s only for the atmosphere. Of course.

At first you think Starscream is being surprisingly cooperative, letting his hands drift down to your waist and _not_ making your life difficult as you get yourself situated. Or, it turns out that he’s being _suspiciously_ cooperative, because just as you’re starting to run out of excuses for why you aren’t riding Starscream quite yet, one of his hands moves between your legs instead, and you stiffen and start to pull back, but he’s already got his hand against your array, setting a finger between your valve lips.

You yelp, which is embarrassing enough, but Starscream doesn’t even react, he just keeps his optics down between your legs, looking at, at _whatever._ His finger is still pressed against your valve. “Stop it,” you hiss, fighting the urge to squirm away from that touch. “I said I wanted to take your _spike,_ not—”

“Can you?”

You— what?

He repeats, “Can you take it?”

“Of course I can,” you snap. “Why wouldn’t I be able to take your spike, there’s nothing wrong with my—”

“Oh, do _forgive_ me. I suppose I should bow to your experience and expertise.”

Your plating burns. Not entirely in a pleasant way. His hand against you feels nice, yes. But you don’t like the feeling of being left in the dark, and you don’t know what he’s trying to get at, and you _don’t_ want to give him more reasons to make fun of how new to this you are.

He glances up at your face and sighs. “Have you taken something as large as a spike before?” He starts to slowly slide one finger into your valve. “Do feel free to correct me if you have an extensive history with interface toys you never bothered to mention.”

“No,” you allow.

His finger is buried in you now, his palm pressed flat against your array. He pulls it out and adds another, working them into you even more slowly than at first.

“You can also correct me if you’d _like_ to experience having your valve tear because you tried taking something too large, too fast.” Your plating goes cold, but Starscream’s voice stays perfectly bland. He spreads his fingers inside you, working you more, more open, you suppose. He continues, “If that is what you were hoping for, I’m happy to oblige, but I will say it makes for some interesting conversations with the medics who have to patch you up afterwards.”

“You’ve made your point,” you mumble. And then add, a little sullenly, _“Wheeljack_ didn’t need any help.”

He snorts. “I dare say Wheeljack is perfectly familiar with the limitations of his own frame.”

At least he finally pulls his fingers out of you and moves his hand back to your waist again. And now, you suppose there’s nothing left to wait on. You bite your lip for half a moment, before you realize Starscream can see. And then you brace your hands against his chest, and start to lower yourself onto his spike.

You have to take one hand from his chest almost straightaway to hold his spike steady, and your plating flushes hot again over how obvious is that you’re figuring this out as you go. But it’s some consolation to hear the quiet half-muffled noise Starscream makes when you take his spike in hand.

Though, when his spike presses against your valve and you’re feeling that particular heat and firm pressure for the very first time, you’re the one who makes an involuntary noise. You bite your lip again, stop yourself again, and give it up as a lost cause and just chew anxiously on your lip as you nerve yourself into taking Starscream’s spike inside you.

As much as just feeling his spike against you made your spark stutter, it’s even more intense when you lower yourself and he begins to slide into you, _in_ your frame. It’s not like his tongue, and it’s so much _more_ than his fingers. His spike is firm and unyielding, spreading you wide, and you can feel with your hand how much of them there’s still left to take. You think, a little wildly, that this would have been much easier if you just lay back and told Starscream to do this _for_ you, so that it was something you could simply experience, out of your direct control, but it’s a little late for that now. Still, his hands on your waist help ground and steady you, and you doubt that was his intention, but you’re grateful anyways.

The size of his spike in you isn’t painful, nothing like painful, but the sensation of it as you sink down fills your processor so much that it’s impossible to think of anything else. You know— You know that someday, someday _soon_ if this goes on, you’ll be used to how this feels. But for the moment, it’s so new and different it’s almost frightening. It’s more than your fingers ever were. More than Starscream’s fingers. _Deeper_ than either of your fingers could ever reach, by now. And it’s different from his tongue, none of the same flex and softness. When your valve clenches around his spike, it doesn’t give way, and that unyielding pressure sends a rush of fresh heat through your array.

Your aft meets Starscream’s hips, though it takes you a moment to realize that’s what’s happened. It takes another moment longer to realize that this means you’ve taken _all_ of Starscream’s spike, the whole thing. You feel like that has to be a victory of some kind. Over Starscream? That doesn’t make sense. Especially not when you realize you’re grinning triumphantly down at him, and he’s smiling back, though it’s a crooked, sardonic, _Starscream_ sort of smile.

Moving. Is the next thing. The next thing you need to figure out. This should be easy, you just need to remember how to _do_ it. Legs. You remember how to use those things. But before you can get the processing power together to remember how, Starscream drops a hand from your waist again. You feel him tap a finger on, on your spike panel, and you gasp and lose your entire train of thought.

You look at him, a little blankly. And he looks back. He seems amused and you feel like you ought to be annoyed by that, but then he taps your spike panel again and you can’t remember why.

He finally rests his hand against your array and asks, “Did you _want_ to leave your spike out of the proceedings?”

You reset your optics once, trying to understand, but then your plating heats with combined embarrassment and excitement. It, it had completely slipped your mind that there was no reason to keep your spike recessed anymore, and you’re suddenly intensely aware of how much it _aches_ to be touched.

You open your panel right away, and shiver as your spike pressurizes, sliding between Starscream’s fingers, until he takes it firmly in hand. Yes, you. You’d thought you were a little less eager than you were before. You might have been wrong about that. When you look down over your own frame, seeing Starscream there, _here,_ between your legs and with a hand on your spike, a giddy laugh bursts out of you. You still can’t quite believe this is really _happening._

So, movement. You can do that. You’re going to frag him through the berth. Through the floor. You’re still helplessly grinning and can’t stop. One last slow ventilation, and then you brace your hands against his chest, and lift your hips up from his.

As— As intense as his spike felt in you, feeling it _move_ in you is something else entirely. You can feel the shape of it, feel the texture of his plating dragging against the mesh of your valve. You barely hesitate before working your hips down against him, taking his spike into you again. And at the same time, Starscream’s hand strokes along your spike, firm and smooth. Oh, oh yes. You very much want more of this.

You find your balance and rhythm quickly. Starscream steadies you with that hand on your waist more than once, which you hadn’t expected. Though you do suppose that with sensitive parts of his anatomy inside you, he _would_ be a little invested in keeping you right where you are. His hand on your spike moves with the same rhythm you do, back and forth as you ride him, slow at first, but accelerating to match your pace as you speed up.

Part of you wonders if you ought to be embarrassed at how quickly this is getting to you. But Starscream isn’t unaffected either. His ventilations are ragged and uneven, and his frame is wonderfully hot between your legs. His hips start to twitch up to meet you every time you sink onto his spike, and it throws off your balance, but you can’t quite bring yourself to tell him to stop, not when all you want is more, _harder._

Though, you realize. You realize that this time with Starscream, you haven’t gotten to do anything with his valve at all. Logically, you know there’s only so much you can fit into a single day, and that you’ve _certainly_ enjoyed everything that’s happened between you so far. But you don’t care about logic, you want _everything._

“Starscream,” you begin. And then you lose your train of thought. This would be easier if you stopped moving, but— You don’t want to stop moving. You do at least try to slow down, and start again. You lock optics with Starscream and say, “I want you to finger yourself.”

The expression that flickers across his face sends a rush of heat through your entire frame before he settles back with something like his usual smug self-assurance. He purrs, “So you want to watch?”

You laugh once, breathless and giddy, and struggle to focus enough to answer. “No— Or, I do. Later. I can’t see it like this. I just want to know it’s _happening.”_

That expression on his face, you can’t read. But you can certainly understand the way he grins. Though that’s only for a moment. His processor catches up to reality just about the same time yours does, and you realize some unfortunate truths about anatomy and physics, and that it’s perhaps a little impossible for you to ride him _and_ for him to finger himself at the exact same time.

You’re trying to think of workarounds. Which isn’t easy when you’re so distracted by everything you’re busy _feeling,_ and when you have a sinking feeling that what you want isn’t actually possible. You want to slow down, to really think this though, because there _has_ to be some way to make it work. That’s not how logic works, and you’re almost positive it’s not the way anatomy works either, but you don’t _care._

You go up on your knees, rising partway off his spike, and try to focus. You start, “Put your hand under—” But he when he does slip his hand under your aft, you have to admit you’re not going to be able to ride him at _all_ like this.

You’re trying to think of what else you can try, but then Starscream does, does _something_ to your spike, some turn of his wrist that, that you can’t even tell what he did, but it sends sparks shooting across your vision. You try to sink down further onto Starscream’s spike, but you, you can’t, not with his arm in the way. Though— underneath your leg you can _feel_ the flex of his arm, you can feel the little movements, and you can just visualize his fingers sinking into his valve, working in and out of him the same way he did with you.

You make a strangled sound that isn’t quite words, and this time Starscream is the one who laughs, but you’re still grinning down at him and he’s grinning up at you, and then his hand is moving on your spike again and it’s difficult to think of anything else past that.

His spike is still inside you, still a wonderful, perfect pressure, and even if you’re desperate for more, every time you try to sink down onto him and his arm blocks your way, it’s a fresh burst of heat in your array at how badly you _want,_ but can’t have. It it would frustrating, _is_ frustrating, except for the constant distraction of his hand on your spike. And you’re trying as hard as you can to focus on his face as he fingers himself, as he fingers himself _while_ his spike is inside you, and you can already tell you aren’t going to remember much, but you’re pretty sure that’s just another excuse to do this with him over and over and over—

You aren’t expecting it when his thumb presses down against your transfluid channel. You manage, _“Starscream—”_ and that’s all before you can say before you start to fall into the overload.

Your hands are braced on Starscream’s chest, your optics are glitching in and out, and it’s just about all you can do to stay upright, but you can feel his arm underneath you, the movements getting faster and more urgent. Until his head falls back, and with a sharp cry, he arches up into you. It’s so hard to think, so hard to do anything that it takes you a moment to catch on, until you feel the heat of his transfluid flood your valve. Your fans are pouring off hot air, but you’re still half-afraid you’re going to overheat, Starscream pulls his hand out from under you and wraps it around your back instead, and you sink the rest of the way onto his spike, though it’s almost more than you can manage to weakly work your hips down against his.

You’re slumped over his chest, braced on your forearms now, and you don’t know when that happened. Your optics come online and slowly focus, though it takes you a long moment to realize that you’re staring at your own transfluid, spattered over Starscream’s plating. His hand is still on your spike, working it unsteadily and unevenly until it depressurizes and retreats into its casing. Distantly, you realize you can feel his spike doing the same, slowly withdrawing from your valve.

You feel— empty. Though you can’t even give serious consideration to another round right now. Your legs are shaking with exhaustion, and you’re starting to seriously consider the merits of recharging right here, on top of Starscream. His head is still hanging back, and you can hear him panting for extra cooling air even over the noise of his fans. And you’re not much better off. Recharging. Right here. It’s a good plan.

Wait, no. Recharging on top of Starscream means letting this mess dry on _both_ of you. Do you… care? You want to say you don’t. You really, really want to say you don’t.

You groan, decide that you are completely justified in these very, very, very strong feelings of self-pity, and force yourself to roll off of Starscream. You don’t quite have to get to your feet to reach the desk, just your knees— which is good, or you might have just given up right then and there. You almost fumble the little bottle of solvent, and you _do_ drop one of the cleaning cloths en route, but you manage to ferry them back to Starscream without too much trouble. He props himself up on an elbow for a moment, looking at you, and then sinks back to the ground.

Fortunately, you don’t have much to clean except for your legs, because you’re not the person who just had someone overload all over them. Privately, you preen over your excellent forward planning that you can definitely take credit for. This whole encounter. _Very_ well planned. By you. Lots of thinking ahead.

You’re tired enough that it’s still a bit of a struggle, but once you finish, it means you get to drop the bottle onto Starscream’s chest, where it makes a very satisfying thud. He mumbles something that might be words—you can’t make them out—and doesn’t move.

You lie down on the floor next to Starscream. You’re done being vertical for now. “If you want to go to your next meeting covered in transfluid, that’s your problem.” And after a moment, you remember to add, “There’s a cloth next to your hand.”

He groans, but you can hear him sit up and start cleaning his frame. Your work here is done. You dim your optics, but before you can get anywhere close to recharge, Starscream prods you in the side with his foot. “You don’t have time for that. We need to get back to the council building.”

 _You_ groan this time. You check your schedule, hoping that he’s wrong, but— No, you aren’t going to be able to get any real recharge in before you need to leave. “This is your fault,” you say, and conveniently ignore the fact that you were the one who invited him here in the first place. He accepted, so. His fault.

And you really don’t want to go to this meeting. It’s so pointless. It’s just rounds of endless questions about how Metroplex can patch into the city, whether he can access this system or that, whether they can use his processing power or can they leverage from his energon distribution infrastructure— Not that titan capabilities are well documented and haven’t changed for the last ten million years or so. And not that they could just take the word of a cityspeaker who’s been trained to be an expert in the subject. Oh no. That would be _silly._

Besides, this meeting happened last week. And will happen next week. And no meaningful progress will be made this week. And it _is_ technically a meeting that _you’re_ leading. So you wrestle with your conscience for a few nanokliks, but honestly... you've already made a decision.

But Starscream has been talking and you were too distracted to catch it. He prods you in the side again. “Did you even hear a word I just said?”

“No. I was busy.”

“Terribly busy, I’m _sure.”_

You don’t even have the energy to get annoyed at how sarcastic he’s being. You simply tell him, “Check your schedule.”

You can practically hear whatever cutting remark he was getting ready to deliver die in his throat as the notification comes through. “Canceled.”

“Mhmm.”

“Urgent business in Metroplex.”

“Those are certainly the words I wrote a few nanokliks ago.”

Part of you wants to boot up your optics just to see the expression on his face, but most of you is too tired to bother. And anyways, it’s only a moment of silence before you hear Starscream lie back down on the floor, next to you.

“And you don’t plan to use that extra two cycles of free time in any productive manner, I suppose.”

You’re smiling, and you don’t care if he sees. “Unlike you, I’m sure.”

He sniffs. “You wouldn’t know. I could get up any moment and take care of any number of pressing issues. And you’d be lazing about in recharge.”

You move your leg just enough to bump into his. Not poking him in the side. Unlike _some_ people you could mention. “Let me know how that goes for you.” You’re starting to drift off. “I want to hear all about your many, _many_ accomplishments when I wake up.”

There’s no answer. He’s already out. You’ll have to remember to bring this conversation up a time or three after he wakes up again. But for the moment, you give in and let it slip away, and all you do is smile to yourself as you relax and slip off into recharge.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](http://spockandawe.tumblr.com/post/168663831081/to-burn-with-you-tonight-spockandawe-the)


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